Wednesday, July 29, 2009

The teachers tell us that "me" is a series of thought-moments. Each thought-moment conditions the next thought-moment. In the same way, the last thought-moment of one life conditions the first thought-moment of another life, which is the continuation of a series.

Friday, July 24, 2009

I had to read the Iliad in Latin at school. Kleos (κλέος — glory, fame) is the concept of glory earned in heroic battle

For my mother Thetis the goddess of silver feet tells meI carry two sorts of destiny toward the day of my death. Either,if I stay here and fight beside the city of the Trojans,my return home is gone, but my glory shall be everlasting;but if I return home to the beloved land of my fathers,the excellence of my glory is gone, but there will be a long lifeleft for me, and my end in death will not come to me quickly.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done,The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;But O heart! heart! heart!O the bleeding drops of red,Where on the deck my Captain lies,Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;Rise up--for you the flag is flung for you the bugle trills,For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths for you the shores a-crowding,For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;Here Captain! dear father!This arm beneath your head!It is some dream that on the deck,You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;Exult O shores, and ring O bells!But I, with mournful tread,Walk the deck my Captain lies,Fallen cold and dead.

Friday, July 17, 2009

Below is a wonderful poem Audrey Hepburn wrote when asked to share her 'beauty tips

It was read at her funeral years later.

For attractive lips, speak words of kindness.For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people.For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry.For beautiful hair, let a child run his/her fingers through it once a day.For poise, walk with the knowledge that you never walk alone.People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone.Remember, if you ever need a helping hand, you will find one at the end of each of your arms.As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands; one for helping yourself, and the other for helping others.

There is a place where the sidewalk endsAnd before the street begins,And there the grass grows soft and white,And there the sun burns crimson bright,And there the moon-bird rests from his flightTo cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows blackAnd the dark street winds and bends.Past the pits where the asphalt flowers growWe shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,And watch where the chalk-white arrows goTo the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,For the children, they mark, and the children, they knowThe place where the sidewalk ends.

Monday, July 13, 2009

Red lips are not so redAs the stained stones kissed by the English dead.Kindness of wooed and wooerSeems shame to their love pure.O Love, your eyes lose lureWhen I behold eyes blinded in my stead!

Your slender attitudeTrembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed,Rolling and rolling thereWhere God seems not to care;Till the fierce Love they bearCramps them in death's extreme decrepitude.

Your voice sings not so soft, -Though even as wind murmuring through raftered loft, -Your dear voice is not dear,Gentle, and evening clear,As theirs whom none now hearNow earth has stopped their piteous mouths that coughed.

Heart, you were never hot,Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot;And though your hand be pale,Paler are all which trailYour cross through flame and hail:Weep, you may weep, for you may touch them not.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Watch this in Youtube and have hours of fun clicking on the title and watching live performances of the poems. Michael Rosen was appointed as the fifth Children's Laureate in June 2007, succeeding Jacqueline Wilson, and held this honour till 2009.

Friday, July 10, 2009

Thursday, July 09, 2009

Emma Goldman (June 27, 1869 – May 14, 1940) was an anarchist known for her political activism, writing and speeches. She played a pivotal role in the development of anarchist political philosophy in North America and Europe in the first half of the twentieth century.

Sunday, July 05, 2009

there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the averagehuman being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at murder are those who preach against itand the best at hate are those who preach loveand the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need godthose who preach peace do not have peacethose who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachersbeware the knowersbeware those who are always reading booksbeware those who either detest povertyor are proud of itbeware those quick to praisefor they need praise in returnbeware those who are quick to censorthey are afraid of what they do not knowbeware those who seek constant crowds forthey are nothing alonebeware the average man the average womanbeware their love, their love is averageseeks average

but there is genius in their hatredthere is enough genius in their hatred to kill youto kill anybodynot wanting solitudenot understanding solitudethey will attempt to destroy anythingthat differs from their ownnot being able to create artthey will not understand artthey will consider their failure as creatorsonly as a failure of the worldnot being able to love fullythey will believe your love incompleteand then they will hate youand their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamondlike a knifelike a mountainlike a tigerlike hemlock

Saturday, July 04, 2009

Friday, July 03, 2009

Where the mind is without fear and the head held high;Where knowledge is free;Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;Where words come out from the depth of truth;Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;Where the mind is led forward by Thee into ever-widening thought and action;Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

Wednesday, July 01, 2009

I am, O Anxious One. Don't you hear my voicesurging forth with all my earthly feelings?They yearn so high, that they have sprouted wingsand whitely fly in circles round your face.My soul, dressed in silence, rises upand stands alone before you: can't you see?don't you know that my prayer is growing ripeupon your vision as upon a tree?If you are the dreamer, I am what you dream.But when you want to wake, I am your wish,and I grow strong with all magnificenceand turn myself into a star's vast silenceabove the strange and distant city, Time.